


Hit me with a riptide

by sinnabonka



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 11:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20656715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnabonka/pseuds/sinnabonka
Summary: Did it hurt? Well, obviously it hurt like Hell. Like thousands of Hells all together.“You go too fast for me, Crowley” – what does that even mean?Is it a speed limit in the city? Is it his new hairstyle? Is it him changing his style over and over again for centuries along with fashion? Yes, this is it. Definitely.





	Hit me with a riptide

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there!  
Got a little inspired and came out with this sketch. Like the idea of these two figuring things out in the bus back to London.  
I am in love with hurt Crowley, as you could notice. And I am in love with the idea of them holding hands that night.  
Please share your thoughts in comments. Cheers!

Did it hurt? Well, obviously it hurt like Hell. Like thousands of Hells all together.

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley”_ – what does that even mean?

Is it a speed limit in the city? Is it his new hairstyle? Is it him changing his style over and over again for centuries along with fashion? Yes, this is it. Definitely.

Angel is old-fashioned, constant, unchangeable for decades. Same coat, same hobby, the good old Ritz, the crêpes. Of course, it scares him how fast Crowley is able to adapt to this world.

It’s not about the holy water for sure. And certainly not about him slowly falling for Aziraphale for six thousand years, saving his feathered angelic ass _over and over and over **and over**_ again.

He was not that obvious, _or was he_?

Crowley hits the wheel and screams at the top of his lungs. They have finally met and talked, and he ruined everything once again. Well, if there is one constant thing about Anthony J. Crowley, it’s his skill to ruin every damn thing in his life. He failed Heaven, failed being enemies with opposite side, failed delivering the Antichrist… He failed on every front. He failed to be a proper demon after all.

Well, evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction, so they say, and Crowley makes every effort for it to grow better than any damn plant in his damn apartment.

The wave of self-pity comes closer and leaves for good.

He feels himself being ripped to shreds by chaotic tangle of thoughts.

Maybe you can take a demon out of Hell, but you can never take Hell out of a demon.

Crowley pressed both hands to his chest, physically feeling the hole opening in it. It’s been the biggest mistake in his endless life to let himself feel again. It’s been a long road for him to make himself not to.

_And look where it brought us, my dear blood pumping mechanism_.

Why would muscle even hurt that much?

He could just miracle it all away. Just end it all.

Crowley is still sitting in the Bentley with hands on a wheel, helpless and lonely, as never and ever again. How long have it been? He has no idea. Ten minutes or a whole hour already? Not a hint.

He finally starts an engine and drives away from Soho.

***

“It’s a big universe. Even if this all ends in a puddle of goo, we can go off together.”

Crowley immediately regrets opening his mouth. His emotional wounds are open again, he bleeds. And he gets angry with angel not seeing it. “Don’t you dare answer it, angel”, he silently begs with his eyes behind dark glasses and is afraid to hear a no.

“Go off together?” Aziraphale says, pausing before pulling himself together. “Listen to yourself.”

Everything’s falling apart. And Crowley is buried under those pieces.

“How long have we been friends? 6,000 years.”

His voice trembles, his hands are shaky.

He’s waiting for the last stab in the back. And it doesn’t take long.

“We’re not friends, we’re an angel and a demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common, I don’t even like you.”

With the last drop of hope, falling off the edge of his sanity, he exhales:

“You do.”

And that is the moment when knife is pushed into his back up to its handle.

You go too fast, Crowley, and not just for Aziraphale. You go too fast for yourself, there is no way you are going to make it through this. It hurts like hell and Crowley is sure the inner voice is right.

He will not survive it.

***

It’s been an awfully long day and both of them are exhausted to the limit. The darkness hides Crowley’s even more pile then always skin. They are almost done with wine, Aziraphale drinks straight form the bottle and hands it back to Crowley.

It’s been a long day, with all the burning car riding, freezing the time, speaking to Satan himself, believing for a moment that Aziraphale is gone… Indeed, an awfully long day it’s been.

Crowley wants to get in the Bentley, drive back to London and get a good rest. He deserved it, after all.

But the Bentley is gone, his home is a mess, bloody Hell and Heaven won’t leave them in peace.

“You can stay at my place, if you want.”

The words just come out from his mouth with no previous sign. He forgets how to breathe and forgets the reason why to.

_Too fast, you idiot, those six thousand years were just a flap of butterfly’s wing, but why would you want to ruin it now?_

He will let Aziraphale have all the time of the world, if he needs to, and they have more than enough of it now, as the Apocalypse is reversed. He is so damn tired and he could use a friend right now. God (crossed out) Satan (blacked out), he just wishes he could lay his head on that soft as cashmere shoulder, close his eyes for a while and let it go.

A bus arrives and he never receives a no for his question. But he also never receives a yes.

They get onto the bus. Aziraphale follows Crowley to the seat with an awkward smile.

They sit together for the first time in the history. They laugh, and they talk, and they look at each other and they don’t pretend to be strangers anymore. And it feels good.

“You must be so tired, dear.”

“Naaah, I’m fine. It will be alright.”

„No, really, I never thanked you for saving us all. It costed you a lot, you stopped the world from spinning for a moment! And not to mention your poor Bentley, I know the car meant a lot for you.”

“We did a good thing.” He smiles. “Well, _you_ did a good thing – saved humanity, as any proper angel would do. And _I_, as a true demon, just screwed up a perfect plan of your lot.”

“We did _the right thing_.” Aziraphale smiles a little bit nervously.

Crowley finds it hard to keep eyes open. He closes them and presses his forehead against the cold glass. As he breathes, the window fogs up a little. Glass in Heaven does not do that.

“Maybe you would be more comfortable, if you…” Aziraphale gently touches his back, “…if you put your head on my shoulder.”

Crowley feels the warmness of his hand, the heaviness and softness of it.

He feels vulnerable and for the Heaven’s and Hell’s sake together he wants it to be over.

He is done hurting. He is done hiding the pain.

He is so done with everything.

He smiles hesitantly and moves his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“You know, dear, I ought to tell you one more thing.” Aziraphale sighs. “It’s okay to go faster now. You know, there is no Heaven, nor Hell to slow us down. I am perfectly fine with you going_ faster_ now.”

Crowley wishes he was better with words. But he is not.

He wished he found what to say at the moment. But he can’t.

Emotions which were chained inside for such a long time are hitting him hard, as a powerful spring stream in the mountains, knock him off his feet, drag him down.

“I…” Crowley starts and regrets it the same second.

His heartbeat mutes his thoughts and sound around them.

Crowley finds Aziraphale’s hand, puts fingers between his, squeezes it gently. And receives a soft kiss on the temple, which strikes him as a devastator bullet. He is frightened by what is going on inside his chest, something’s moving and rustling, and he’s not sure anymore if it is safe.

“Get some rest, dear boy, I will make sure we don’t miss our stop.”

Crowley got cough in the riptide. And he lets it toss him back towards the open sea.

They have all time of the world to figure out how things should be. But now he’s too tired to actually think this through. He's not ready to think about tomorrow and how the war is not over yet.

Angel’s shoulder is soft and warm. And that’s all what matter now.

The darkness outside does not bother Crowley anymore, as the darkness inside him is finally gone.


End file.
